Different Beat
by ryguna
Summary: When Zell confesses to a series of seemimgly unrelated murders that have left SeeD baffled, no one is prepared for what he has to say. Turns out, Zell's dark side is a lot darker than anyone thought.


_**Note** **:** This story will contain references to sexual assault, child abuse, murder and violence._

* * *

 ** _Prologue_**

* * *

Wrists in handcuffs, the killer's palms lay face-down on the table, his shoulders slumped in defeat. This one didn't fit the profile. Except, he _did,_ but they never considered him a suspect.

In hindsight, there were signs, and they all missed it. He was right there in front of them, the whole damn time and Squall never really believed him capable of this.

It was no wonder none of their leads went anywhere. He covered his tracks, and he covered them well, just like he'd been taught.

Twenty-seven people dead, all seemingly unrelated on paper. Three months dedicated to finding the killer with few leads to set them on the right path

Then, he walked right into Squall's office and surrendered himself without a fight.

Most missions ended with some kind of resolution. Captives saved. Hostages released. A rebellion stopped. A would-be dictator brought down.

Case closed.

This was not a resolution. This was a fucking tragedy.

"Why?"

It was the only question Squall could manage to ask.

"The world's better off without them. We don't need people like that."

He was so calm, so sure.

"What gives you the right to make that call?"

A small smile played over the killer's lips, but there was no mirth in his eyes, only sadness.

"The only difference between what SeeD does and what I've done is that SeeD gets paid for it. It's government sanctioned murder," the killer said. "Look at who I killed, Squall. Look at what they did, and then tell me they didn't deserve it."

"The Cadets?" Squall asked. "Those boys were fifteen and sixteen years old."

A bright flare of anger overwhelmed the sadness in the killer's eyes. He sat up straighter and leaned forward over the table, intensity and conviction in his posture and his gaze.

"They were _rapists_ ," the killer said. "They drugged female cadets, girls that were their _peers,_ and assaulted them while they were unconscious."

"You should have reported it instead of taking matters into your own hands," Squall said. "If that was going on, there should have been an investigation."

"Tch. Right," the killer said with a bitter laugh. "Because rape victims are always automatically believed and treated with respect during investigations, huh? Doing it your way could have taken years, and would have humiliated those girls. My way? At least they got some justice."

Squall stared at his old friend, not entirely able to disagree.

* * *

The first person I ever killed outside of a SeeD contract was my old man.

I warned him. Told him, if he ever raised a hand to Ma again, I'd kill him dead. Too bad he didn't listen. Maybe he'd still be alive, and maybe I wouldn't be sitting in a jail cell awaiting a death sentence that I won't bother to appeal.

I won't lie. It felt so damn _good_ to push the bastard down the stairs.

I'll never forget the way he bounced when he hit the bottom, his eyes bright with pain, how they sparked with fury when I wrapped my hands around his neck and squeezed. I watched the light in his eyes sputter and then die out, and it felt good to finally give him what he deserved.

The bruises on Ma's face were already healed by the time we buried him, but I could still see them, and I thought about all those years my tough, strong Ma lived in fear of him, about how many times she lied and said her wounds were due to her own clumsiness.

Ran into a wall. Hit her head on an open cabinet door.

Fell down the stairs.

My old man was dead and I was supposed to be sad about it, but I felt bad that I _didn't_ feel bad, you know? I made myself cry anyway. Thought about orphaned puppies and lost teddy bears and crying girls and the tears spilled over for all the injustices I saw around me every day.

Don't mistake me – I didn't shed a tear for him.

Maybe I felt bad about killing him. A little bit, but after that, I didn't feel bad about any of them. My sorrow, my tears were for the victims of their crimes. I cried for their suffering, for the fear and pain they never should have had to feel, for the hurt they inflicted and the lives they shattered without remorse.

Pops got what he deserved. They _all_ got what they deserved.

If what I did was wrong, then may Hyne have mercy on my soul.

* * *

Author's Notes: If you made it this far, thank you for reading. I'm pretty new to this fanficky thing, so please be kind and leave a review.

And, thank you to Siobhane for the idea, the encouragement and the read-through.


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